


From Sunset to Sunrise

by AndyAO3



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Spoilers, Spoilers for Character Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MacCready figures his employer is best described as an oversized dorky puppy with the attention span of a goldfish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on your mark

**Author's Note:**

> THERE WAS NO MALE SOLE SURVIVOR/MACCREADY. I HAVE FIXED THAT.
> 
> IT IS VERY FLUFFY AND DUMB. HAVE IT ANYWAY, INTERNET.

Zach Thorne is huge, and MacCready isn't just projecting because he's short, either. No, the guy's really six foot four, and really had to painstakingly adjust a set of T60 power armor to fit, and really has to watch how fast he runs sometimes because people can't keep up with his obscenely long legs. He's a beast, all arms and legs and knees and elbows-- chiseled jawline, broken nose, strong brow, thin lips.

So MacCready is always a little surprised when he can't help but draw the mental comparison to a huge over-eager puppy.

It's weird. He knows it's weird. But Zach's a weird guy. Got a ton of small scars, a few bigger ones, but they're not the things you notice. Got freckles, too, dusted across every inch of skin that's habitually exposed to sunlight. Again, not something most folks look at. Not what MacCready looks at, definitely. Because what MacCready sees is bright eyes and messy hair and everything being slightly too big, too wide, too angular. He thinks of the word "gawky" and thinks its dictionary entry has to have a picture of Zach next to it.

It makes him want to think Zach is good, right from the start. He lets Zach talk him down to two hundred caps as his asking price, because that dopey puppy face with the too-wide grin makes him feel like he should protect it-- like it's worth protecting.

Weeks later, that hasn't changed. MacCready knows Zach as a man who's willing to help. He also knows Zach as a big ol' kid who will talk animatedly about comics, who thinks an effective strategy for dealing with a behemoth is to run it in circles around a pond while MacCready shoots at it, who gives MacCready a heavily modified laser rifle to take with him into a Brotherhood base of operations just to annoy the Paladin who previously owned it and - as Zach put it - "watch Danse turn purple".

(That last one was great. MacCready had used it as a back-scratcher and taken to peering down the barrel, just for effect. Paladin Danse had looked like he was about to blow a gasket the whole time.)

Now they're at the top of the Bunker Hill monument (which isn't half as impressive as the one back in DC), Zach rifling through a chem box to find things to sell. It's the middle of the night, and the moon is shining through a big-ass hole in the wall; it gives sharp shadows and contrasts to Zach's already pronounced features, but it also brings out the lines of a perpetual almost-smirk.

MacCready fidgets with the contents of his pockets, chewing the inside of his lower lip. He has an idea, but he knows that his idea is stupid. Anyone in their right mind would think so.

But... Zach isn't in his right mind, is he? He's crazy, just like MacCready. Being able to care these days means you have to be crazy. Especially after all the shit they've been through. So maybe-- maybe Zach will get it.

"H-hey," MacCready begins. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Zach looks up from the comic he's picked up, blinking. "What's up? Something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," MacCready is quick to assure him.

"You're sure?" Zach says, worried. He always worries. "Is it about Duncan? He's okay, right? I mean, did the cure work?"

The change of subject catches MacCready off-guard. "It-- I think so. Daisy said he's doing better."

Zach smiles, relieved. "Good. Got me worried for a sec. Y'know you can bring him up here when he's better, right? I've got people. I can make sure he's set up right. Diamond City, the Castle, Sanctuary--"

MacCready has to fight the urge to laugh. "Thanks, Zach."

"Hey, man. Anything for you."

Anything? MacCready swallows thickly around a lump that forms in his throat as he watches Zach go back to flipping through the comic, leaning against a wall in such a way that the moonlight can illuminate the pages without being blocked by his head. Distracted again. Probably half-forgot that MacCready wanted to talk at all. Zach just does things like that. It's something MacCready's had to get used to, but not something he minds so much; he figures it wouldn't be fair to draw attention to it when he knows he can be a handful, himself.

He also figures that Zach knows already. About both of them being kinda _off_ , kinda broken compared to everyone else. He has to wonder sometimes if that's why Zach laughs at his dumb jokes, if maybe only the ones who are a little _off_ like they are will get them. Lucy had laughed for him too.

MacCready clutches the bit of carved wood stuffed into his coat pocket, running his fingers over the contours and grooves. Now or never. "I-I have something for you," he says.

"Huh?" Zach's head snaps up. "Oh! Right, sorry. Forgot." The comic's put down and Zach claps his hands, rubs them together as he turns to face MacCready fully. "So! Whatcha got for me?"

"I--" MacCready ducks his head so his eyes are hidden by the brim of his hat, pulling the toy soldier out of his pocket. He turns it over a few times in his hand before thrusting it towards Zach for him to take. "I want you to have this," MacCready says in a rush.

With surprising care, Zach gingerly takes the toy soldier and holds it up with his huge hands to examine it in the light. It looks almost comically small when held delicately by the tips of those long fingers. "Wow," he whispers, absolutely sincere. "Did you make this?"

"No," MacCready admits. "My wife did. She-- she thought I was a soldier, y'know? Not a merc. So she made that for me."

Zach looks at MacCready then, a slight furrow to his brow. "And you're just giving it to me?"

"I don't have anything else." It hurts to say that, slicing through MacCready's pride like a knife through warm butter. He isn't asking for sympathy, though; it's a statement of fact. "I can never make up for everything you've done for me. No one's been there for me since Lucy, but you--"

"No one?" Zach wonders aloud.

MacCready shakes his head. "No one's cared about me this much."

There's no hesitation in the response. "I care about you."

"I know you do," MacCready says. Zach cares about everyone. "You're probably the best friend I've ever had, Zach."

Zach frowns. "No, I mean I _really_ care about you. As in, like... Ahh, hell." He goes to rub at his neck without realizing he's still got the toy soldier in his hand, causing him to blink at it and quickly pocket it with an embarrassed chuckle. "God, I'm a mess. Y'know, just forget I said anything, okay?"

Forget he said-- oh. _Oh_. MacCready feels the blood rush to his face. Okay, that made the earlier comment about him leading a lonely life make a lot more sense. "I never even thought about that," MacCready says honestly. How-- how does that even work? Can it work?

"It's fine. Most don't." Zach's tone is apologetic. He's smiling, but the look is a self-deprecating one.

MacCready doesn't like it. Doesn't like what it implies. He feels protective all over again imagining what kind of people could make Zach feel guilty for giving a crap about someone. That's not a kind of guilt he thinks anyone should have to feel. "I didn't say 'no', I said I hadn't thought about it," MacCready states, making sure he says it clearly and firmly.

That does the trick somehow, because Zach perks up immediately. "So you're thinking about it?"

"I'm thinking you're a widower and how that could complicate things, but yeah." MacCready decides not to mention that he's trying to work out the logistics in his head. Seriously, Zach towers over him. He can't imagine the kind of heat the guy's probably packing. It's the hands and feet you look at, right? Isn't that what they say? "I'm... Definitely thinking about it."

Zach grins. "Don't hurt yourself," he says. MacCready laughs because he can't help himself. God. Zach's as bad as he is.

If that's all they need to make things work between the two of them - if all they need is that they're two widower dads who tell dumb jokes and are a little bit screwed up in the head - MacCready thinks that it might work.

"Gotta wonder what Duncan'll think of having two dads, though," Zach says, thinking aloud again. "Pfff. Endless loop of 'go ask your father' waiting to happen, I bet."

MacCready doesn't miss a beat. "With you? More like you'll spoil him rotten. He'll like you better than he likes me."

"Nawww, I would never." Zach's grin is far from innocent. He takes hold of MacCready's hand without a hint of trepidation or shame, moving past him toward the stairs that will take them to the bottom of the monument and dragging him along. "C'mon. Don't have a hot rod Ford or a two dollar bill, but I do know a spot right over the hill."

MacCready chuckles, shaking his head as he's tugged along. What a nerd.

 


	2. call your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's been alone before. He can't let Zach go through the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8'D I'm evil.
> 
> Note: THIS IS VERY FEELSY DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT FEELS. I'M SERIOUS. YOU MIGHT HATE ME AFTER READING THIS.

"No, that's a microphone-- haha, _si_ , that didn't taste good, I know..."

MacCready stops in his tracks outside Zach's room at the Dugout Inn, a beer in one hand and another tucked under his arm as he's reaching the door. Halts his progress mere inches from turning the handle. Inside, he hears a woman's voice - a recording of one - and the distinct sound of a baby's nonsense babbling.

"Say 'hi' to your papi, little one. Say _hola._ Come on, you said something like a word earlier, can you say it again?" The recorded baby bubbles up with a laugh, and the woman echoes it fondly. "Ahhh, what a little treasure you are," MacCready hears her say. His chest constricts when he realizes what he's hearing.

Crap. Should-- should he be listening to this?

"Anyway, to business!" the woman in the recording says. "I know how nervous you get when people ask you to talk about politics, so I knew I had to do something for you before the big speech. If you're listening before, don't worry! I'm sure even these stupid armchair _pendejos_ will see how dumb their war is if it's you telling them. You are a master of words, Zach. I honestly believe that. And if you are listening afterward, also don't worry, because I'm certain they will take everything you have to say under advisement no matter how badly you make yourself think you were doing. Even _abuela_ listens to you, and you know how much she hates white people.

"But I am not the one who knows how to shape thoughts with words, _mi querido_. You are. So that is why I have brought Shaun to convince you too. He's much cuter than I am, and I know you believe everything he tells you because he is a fat baby whose father has no willpower to refuse him. Ha!

"Just don't forget that we love you, Zach. We love you and we cheer for you. Isn't that right, little fat baby?" In the recording, the baby makes a burbling sound. "You see? He says he loves you and that pooping on you is just how he shows affection. I know these things, I'm his mama. Now say bye-bye, little one..."

The recording cuts off after a bit more cooing and babbling, leaving awkward silence in its wake. And suddenly MacCready isn't sure if he should go in at all. He gets it if Zach needs a minute; this is one of the things they have in common, even if MacCready's had more time to cope. Even if the situation with Shaun is so much more complex. Even if Zach has more things to remind him every damn day of what's been taken from him. MacCready gets enough of it that he can sort of wrap his head around the extent of it, so he gets that Zach might need time to himself once in a while.

Then MacCready hears a muffled, choked sound that he'd swear sounds like a sob, and decorum takes a backseat to concern. Biting his lip to keep from cursing, he opens the door to see Zach sitting on the bed with his pip-boy providing the room's only source of illumination. MacCready can see the red-rimmed wetness of Zach's eyes by the pale green light of the device, and he knows. He _knows_. He's been there, with no one except Duncan to share his grief. And Duncan had been too young. Far too young.

He can't let Zach be as alone as he was.

Both beers are left forgotten on a nearby table as MacCready turns on a light and shuts the door behind him. He doesn't feel the need to ask what's wrong, nor does he have any meaningless words of comfort to offer. He merely walks over to the bed to stand in front of Zach and reaches out to pull the taller man's head against his chest, pressing a soft kiss into that mop of dull brown hair.

"Hey," he says. It's all he has to say. Soon enough there are long, shaking arms winding around him, tugging him in closer. Clinging to his jacket, to him. Zach's trembling, quivering like a plucked harpstring. He's a wreck. MacCready knows what it's like to be a wreck.

"Sorry," Zach whispers. MacCready shakes his head, pets Zach's hair in an attempt to soothe. Nothing to be sorry about. Not a damn thing. But MacCready knows that saying so will open up the floodgates for a barrage of reasons for self-deprecation. He knows because he'd do the same thing.

"I'm not going anywhere, Zach," he says. "I'm right here." It's what he would have wanted to hear, way back when. Someone, anyone just being in his corner with him. He lost that when those ferals tore Lucy apart.

Maybe it isn't the same thing that Zach needs, but it's certainly what finally causes him to crack, gripping MacCready's coat tightly enough to strain the seams. No theatrics. Zach doesn't bawl. But every near-silent sob is enough to wrack his body, showing how much he's holding in for the sake of poor soundproofing and thin doors.

And MacCready lets him. Lets him cling, lets him work it out of his system. Promises him in a low voice in between forehead-kisses and assurances that they're stuck with each other that they'll find Shaun. _Together_. Because MacCready's pretty sure he gets it. He was there for what went down with Kellogg, there for the memory-diving with Valentine. He understands.

Their beers are room temperature by the time they get to them.

 


	3. blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes they disagree. It isn't fun, and MacCready doesn't like it, but it happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing is all over the goddamn place. If you guys expect any kind of narrative from this then you're probably going to be disappointed. There's no plot here. Just stuff happening based around stuff that happened ingame/inspired by stuff that happened ingame.

" _What?_ " MacCready squawks. "You're not seriously considering helping that crazy robot over these human beings, are you?"

He's stuck with it. He liked the Minutemen thing, he likes seeing Zach strutting around in the old General's coat even though the taller man's knobby wrists stick out from the too-short sleeves. He didn't even get too mad or jealous when Zach left once with a perky French robot and came back with a perky French synth girl, because Curie's honestly too cute to be jealous of.

But this? Screw this.

He doesn't balk when Zach turns to face him, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. It's a dangerous sort of expression, but MacCready isn't afraid. Nor is he afraid when Zach cranes his neck to glance back at the woman he'd been speaking to, mumbling a "would you excuse us for a moment" before giving MacCready a pointed look and stalking off.

MacCready follows. They get about a block away - somewhere between the scavengers and the boat full of crazy robots - and then he can't hold it in anymore. "You really are, aren't you? Just gonna let those robots walk all over these people."

"They won't," Zach says firmly.

"You can't know that. You've already seen what two centuries have done to their programming. They're insane."

Zach's jaw goes taut. There's a stiffness to him when he stops and moves to face MacCready fully. "The humans shot first," he says.

"That's a load of crap. Those robots would've shot you if you hadn't been a popsicle." They would've shot MacCready if he weren't with Zach.

"Because we've given them no reason to think that we aren't dangerous."

" _They're_ dangerous, Zach!"

"They didn't start this, RJ. We did."

"It doesn't matter who started it, we can finish it. Those scavengers are fighting to survive. The robots? You heard them-- they're pulling together scraps so they can try and fight a war that _everyone already lost_. And that's if they're telling the truth! That's if they're sane enough to know what the truth even is!"

"Right, those scavengers sounded totally sane."

"To me? Yeah, they did. What they were saying made sense to me." It hurts to argue. Why are they arguing? MacCready doesn't want to. But he doesn't want to see Zach make such an obvious mistake either, one that will get people killed and hang over both their heads. Lives will end, real lives belonging to real people. Robots aren't-- they aren't _real_. They don't feel joy or pain or anything. It's all just code, and code can get damaged or rewritten. Besides, they're already broken. Why does it matter?

Then Zach says "it's easy for violence to make sense," and MacCready realizes this has absolutely jack to do with robots.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," MacCready says. "If humans can make violence make sense, then so can robots. You saw them mow down those scavvers."

"They used warning shots first," Zach replies. "Moved onto injury second. The only ones who were killed were the ones who didn't give up and retreat."

MacCready is tired of arguing. He never wanted to, not with Zach. Not over something that was supposed to be an easy job for both of them. Something to help them cool down. "Zach, they're just robots."

"And the Chinese were just Chinese in my time." It doesn't surprise him that Zach sounds and looks as tired as MacCready feels. "To the Germans in the second great war, the Jews were just Jews. To the Americans, the Japanese were just Japanese."

"Yeah, I get it. But those people were _people_. These're robots we're talking about. Y'know, nuts and bolts. Lines of gibberish code on a screen."

"What do you think humans are? Just DNA. Chemicals. Electrical impulses."

That makes MacCready's breath stick in his chest. How can Zach believe that? How can someone who practically makes it his life's mission to help everyone he can be that cold? Was-- was MacCready wrong about him? "Humans are a heck of a lot more than that."

"So are robots," Zach counters, more sad and quiet than bitter and angry like MacCready is. Then he turns on his heel and starts walking again. "C'mon. We're leaving."

MacCready can't keep the sneer out of his voice. "Gonna help the robots then?"

"No," the General of the Minutemen says. "We're not gonna help anyone. Let's just head home."

It's unclear to MacCready whether they've reached a mature compromise or a childish stalemate.

\---

Home isn't Goodneighbor or Diamond City. For Zach, it's Sanctuary - which he calls Sanctuary Hills for some arbitrary reason - and that's one long-ass walk from smack in the middle of Boston.

And for once, they spend most of that walk in silence. Zach doesn't make jokes, nor does he respond to MacCready's occasional wisecrack. They don't make pit stops along the way, eating lunch as they go instead. There's no singing or humming along to the radio. The occasional curious mirelurk or hungry yao guai is dispatched with relative ease and little fanfare between Zach's heavily modded magnum and MacCready's heavily modded hunting rifle.

By the time they get there, the sun's nearly set and MacCready's feet hurt. He takes the opportunity of Preston ambushing his General for status updates to duck into the main building - the small house Zach's set aside mostly for himself and his inner circle, with its single big bed and half of the one large room taken up by a sitting area. There's a desk in one corner framed by filing cabinets with a larger cabinet above it on the wall, and shelves on either side of the bed that double as bedside tables. The opposite corner has a stack of spare folding chairs, a fridge, and a table that can be pulled out if needed.

This is "their" house, Zach once told MacCready. As he sits on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off, he wonders what that means. Wonders if Zach would say the same to just anyone-- to Codsworth, or Curie, or Valentine. If Zach would stand in a robot's corner instead of his.

Boots thump to the floor, and MacCready massages his feet through hole-riddled and ill-fitting socks with a wince.

On top of all that, there's Duncan to think about. MacCready's pretty confident that Duncan will be able to adjust to Commonwealth life, especially with all the work Zach's done with the Minutemen to make settlement after settlement into self-sufficient havens for people. Either Sanctuary or the Castle would probably be best. But that all assumes that Zach will still be on his side by that point, and not the side of some sadsack synth or robot.

There's no question for MacCready that if it came down to it, he'd choose his son's well being over both Zach's and his own. Duncan would always come first for him. He'd been pretty sure that Zach understood and respected that, but now? Now he doesn't know. He's starting to think Zach's just a bit misguided, a bit hung up on a past that'll never come back. Those robots were pre-war too, so it's not impossible. It'd make sense.

The hardwood floor is cold on his feet as he stands to shrug off his duster, draping it over one of the nearest shelf along with his scarf. It's shit, that's what it is. He's caught between hating himself for being so damned trusting of the guy and hating himself for questioning whether or not Zach would help him to begin with. Because a part of him knows that all that questioning and mistrust is bullshit. Of course Zach would help. He tries to help everyone.

Tries to. Can't always. That latter bit is the sticking point, and it matters. It really, _really_ matters.

"Hey," says a voice from the doorway, and MacCready jerks at the noise. Slams his elbow into a table and has to bite back a curse. Damn it, hadn't even heard the door open.

"I thought we weren't talking," MacCready says in response, feeling bitter all over again. "Weren't you chatting with Preston?"

"Shook him off." Zach closes the door behind him, and soon he's tugging off his own coat and reaching for the clasps of the combat armor underneath. Like everything's normal. "This is more important right now."

MacCready cringes. Bastard. Being all nice. "That's up for debate. Preston would probably disagree with you."

A few seconds worth of silence follow that before Zach speaks again. "D'you want me to leave?"

No. He doesn't want that. "It's your house. I don't care."

"RJ, please," Zach urges him, and damned if he doesn't sound like a kicked puppy. MacCready doesn't dare look up. "Will you hear me out?"

"How long before it's a robot you side with over a person again, Zach?" MacCready asks. "Would you side with a machine over the Minutemen? Over Goodneighbor?"

"I'm trying to tell you. Will you listen?"

"It's a simple enough goddamn question."

"With a complicated answer."

MacCready shakes his head. Not complicated at all. "Yes or no."

"Then yes," Zach answers finally. " _Yes_ , I would help a machine over a human if the playing field was level. Because just by being human we tilt things in our favor. We're bullies, MacCready."

"See? That's all you had to say." All MacCready needs to hear, too, because soon he's sitting back down on the bed to reach for his boots and start yanking them back on.

He can't see Zach's expression - still hasn't looked up yet - but he can hear the disbelief in the man's tone. The hurt. "You're leaving?"

"Your mind's made up."

"Please, just listen--"

"If it were me," MacCready interjects, "or Duncan. Would you pick a robot over us?"

"No."

"Can't have it both ways, Zach."

"There's always another option."

MacCready lets out a sigh, finally allowing himself to glance at Zach's expression. To meet his gaze. It's as bad as MacCready thought it would be. "Not always," he says, softening his voice. "You can't save everyone."

"Anything that think for itself and feel is a person," Zach says. "Something that I see as a person but other people don't is gonna be less likely to get help as a rule, so I'm gonna help them. Ghouls, robots, humans in a bad situation."

"One of these things is not like the others," MacCready says. But, well... Heck, Zach's got his attention. He hates it, but it's true.

"A friend in Anchorage almost died in a crushed suit of power armor. No one would help him because he was Chinese." Because he's looking, MacCready can see that the memory is a real, painful thing for Zach. The man isn't lying. "They wouldn't say it, but that was definitely the reason. I had to make them help. It didn't matter that he'd joined the Army and was fighting alongside us. They'd rather have him as a martyr, someone to hold up as an example of 'one of the good ones' who died fighting the 'bad ones'."

The sad thing is that MacCready can see it. He has seen it, in fact. Because people treat Daisy back in Goodneighbor like absolute garbage, and he had to fight the urge to not side-eye ghouls himself after what happened to Lucy. Because he knows how hard Hancock's worked to make his town a safe haven for folks just trying to get by. And he wants to think that robots are just robots, but then there's Nick Valentine. There's Curie. Codsworth, Takahashi, Kleo--

They're okay. A little weird, but okay.

"What happened to your friend?" MacCready eventually asks.

"Medical discharge. He survived, but his chest was half caved in, and he wouldn't go near power armor anymore. They couldn't put him back out in the field." Zach chuckles quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "He didn't even want to join the Army. He wanted to stay at home. But if he'd done that, he probably would've ended up in an internment camp, y'know?"

MacCready doesn't really know - internment camps weren't included in his education - but he has some guesses, and they aren't pleasant. "I still don't agree with you," he says, "but I see where you're coming from."

"That's all I wanted." God, MacCready can almost believe it. Zach's too sweet to hate anyone for disagreeing with him. "Are you still gonna leave?"

The puppy comparison comes to mind again, and MacCready sighs as he tugs his boots back off for the second time that evening. "Don't see a reason to."

It's not a good sign when Zach's big, dorky grin that's full of relief and affection and all that sappy junk makes MacCready's heart do a fluttery thing. Not a good sign at all.

 


	4. departure~blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach is a thoughtless, stimpak-hoarding jerk and MacCready hates him. No, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO I'M SORRY IF IT MAKES NO SENSE.

MacCready wakes up in the Minutemen General's quarters on the dreaded Morning After and promptly wishes he hadn't.

He feels like he pulled a muscle. Every muscle. Well, not every muscle. Just the ones in his legs, and his back, and a lot of the lower half of his torso in general. He's pretty sure that having his knees hiked up somewhere around his head for a bit the night before has a lot to do with that. He hadn't even realized he could bend that way; on reflection, he probably shouldn't have let Zach do that. Not that he'd minded it at the time. He'd had zero complaints at the time (in fact, he'd actually been asking for more; the good had far outweighed the bad at that point).

But now? Now he's sore, and tired, and his skin itches in places where certain fluids happened to end up. He realizes as he reaches up to idly scratch at his stubble that some of it even got in his beard. Somehow.

Grumbling under his breath, he flings the covers off and sits up to swing his legs over the side of the bed so he can get up and maybe get a bath in that fancy tub Zach's got (with reliable hot water, no less; dating the General has its perks). Except when he gets to the "standing up" part, his legs decide that it's high time for a mutiny and refuse to hold his weight. It's a good thing no one's there to see him land squarely on his ass with nothing more than a rug between him and the concrete floor to cushion his fall.

Ow. He might need a stimpak.

Except stimpaks are over the sink. Where the bathroom is. On the other side of the room.

There are a lot of expletives going through his head that he has to try very hard to keep from voicing.

Eventually he does manage to get to his feet, and soon after that he does finally make his way to the sink. Usually he goes straight for the toilet upon waking, but that stimpak is a higher priority to him right now. So with one hand gripping the edge of the sink to hold his weight, the other opens up the cabinet behind the mirror. _And the stimpak isn't there_.

Crap. Zach must've taken it or something. Normally MacCready is fine with the man's habit of hoarding the things - ever tried to fix a deathclaw wound before it can have a chance to fester? Kinda necessitates having more than one - but today it just adds to his annoyance. Why take the one behind the mirror? That one's supposed to be there. The Castle's decorator people (or whoever) put it there for a reason when they were setting the room up.

That's it. Whenever Zach gets back from doing whatever it is he's doing, MacCready is going to smack him. Not because of the sex, or even the aftermath, but because Zach is a big ol' dopey jerk who hoards stimpaks.

And after he's done his business and gotten the bath to the right temperature, as he sinks down into the soothing hot water he mentally reminds himself to ask Curie later if there's any exercises he can do to improve his flexibility or something. Because if nothing else, the sex itself was amazing, and he would very much like to do it again. Just, without managing to hamstring himself in the process.

Come to think of it, maybe Zach got the idea to do those things with MacCready because he's capable of them himself. Maybe MacCready can get Zach's legs over his shoulders like that. Yeah, he's not as experienced, and his fingers aren't as long as Zach's, and he's not as-- uh, big. But the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of having the General of the Minutemen writhing underneath him, gripping the headboard and breathless--

Uh. Yeah. Alright, definitely bringing that up next time as a possible Thing To Do.

After he's smacked the guy for hoarding stimpaks, of course.

 


End file.
